Blurred (Connections, #3.5)(7)

I run my hands through my hair. “You should have called first.”

Serena grabs the plastic handles of the bags and walks toward me, setting them on the coffee table. Why move the bags? I’m not sure, but it got her closer to me. She looks at me with disgust on her face. “Do you even know that girl’s name?”

I shrug and nod. I shove my hands in my pockets, dropping my gaze to the woolen throw rug.

“I came over to tell you Dahlia is getting married today. I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

Everything stops . . . my breathing, my pulse, my churning mind. It takes me a few minutes to pull my heart from my throat. “What day is it?” I ask her.

“It’s Saturday, October thirty-first, Ben.”

“Fuck, she’s getting married on Halloween?” My voice falters. I drop to the sofa and cradle my head in my hands.

After a minute, I look up at my older sister.

She nods with an equal mix of sympathy and pity and I can’t stand it.

“She’s getting married on the anniversary of her parents’ death. Why would she do that?”

“She wants to make it a happy day in her life.”

I scrub my head. I tried to do that so many times for her. I shuffle to my feet and pace the room. Then I turn back to Serena. “Fuuuck!!” I yell, swiping everything off the desk.

“Ben!” my sister scolds.

And that’s all it takes. My trigger. I look at my sister and can tell my eyes go blank. “I don’t give a shit what she does anymore.”

Serena shouts at me, her face turning red, and disappointment shines from her vibrant blue eyes. “Yes, you do! Of course you do!”

With my hand in the air, I walk toward the door. “No. I. Don’t. I don’t give a shit about anyone.”

“You’re a f*cking mess, Ben. Pack your shit and get out of Mom’s house. How dare you disrespect her like this.”

I spin on my heels ready to argue with her, to tell her she’s wrong. But she isn’t. I am a mess. Her eyes bore into me and I feel like I’m drowning in judgment. I can’t take another minute of it. Keeping my lips sealed, I storm up the stairs where I grab my duffle bag and pack my shit. I’m outta here. I don’t need her trying to be my mother over and over. It only reminds me that my mother is dead.

When I come down the stairs she’s tidying up the desk. She tips her glance up. “Call me when you get your shit together.”

She should try being me for one day. I grab my keys and walk out the front door without glancing back. The sun assaults me and I have to close my eyes for a minute. The glow is relentless . . . yellow and orange burn through my lids. I shade my hand over my brow and look around the house where I grew up, trying hard not to let melancholy set it. The chick is sitting on the planked steps and she glances up at me questioningly. She looks so different from the way she did inside—softer. Dawn, yeah, her name is Dawn. I turn my head and walk past her down the stairs—I don’t need to see soft. “Sorry about that. Mind if we go to your place?”

“Sure, but I need to get my car first. You can follow me home from the Cliff.”

I nod and open my door. I start the car and blast the f*cking radio before she even gets in. I can’t believe Dahl is getting married to someone else and today of all days. The anniversary of her parents’ death was always the hardest day of the year for her and why she would choose it to marry him—I don’t get. Although I try to erase her from my mind, I can’t let go of the fact that the girl that was made for me found someone who was made for her, and it wasn’t me. I blindly reach to turn the radio up even louder. If I can’t shut my thoughts out, I’ll drown them out.

Suddenly, I feel fingers creeping up my leg. Shit, I had forgotten she was even in the car. I move her hand to her lap. “Let’s wait till we get to your place.” Once I pull out of the driveway I let my mind wander again. I drop Dawn off to get her car and follow her back to her place.

She lives in a small, Spanish-style house in the middle of town. It’s in need of a paint job, a number of terra-cotta tiles seem to be missing from the roof, and the grass is sparse, but it looks nice enough. Trees surround it and leaves cover the ground. When I was a kid, I’d rake all the leaves in my yard into a pile and Dahl and I would jump into it over and over. I park in the street and follow her inside. I probably should have asked if she wanted to stop for breakfast after we got her car, but I never thought of it. I was too lost in my thoughts.

She waits for me to enter then turns to lock the door, and just like that the quiet, shy chick is gone. She slips back into a dominatrix. Her hands slide into my shorts and reach for me. As soon as she’s touching me, I forget about everything except the feel of her hands. Taking my hand she guides me down a dark paneled hall. I stop and lean against the doorjamb of what I presume is her room. This time she doesn’t close the door behind me.

“Strip now,” she purrs.

That’s easy enough. I kick my flip-flops to the side, pull my T-shirt over my head, unbutton my shorts and let them fall. Without having put underwear on, I’m naked in an instant. Here’s the thing—it’s f*cking daylight out and I’m stone cold sober. “Got anything to drink,” I ask her as she pulls her skirt off and then unbuttons her shirt. Shit, she has big tits. I hadn’t noticed earlier. My dick springs to life when I think of what I can do with those, but I’d still like a drink.